My Own Silver Screen
by binnibeans
Summary: America wants nothing more during this visit than to beat the standard set by one of his movies. England is not making this easy on him.


**A/N:** For **usxuk**'s Summer Camp event!

Day 23: Rain

_Whether it's a shower or a storm, a freezing rain or a warm sunshower, your fanwork must feature rain in some way shape or form. They can be outside in it, thinking about it, inside but soaking wet from it, etc._

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><p>There were several things America had a taste for. Hamburgers and Coca-Cola were on the top of the list, followed by an assortment of randomly-selected junk food. Besides having <em>literal <em>tastes, he rather liked living scenes from the Silver Screen. Epic fight scenes? Check. Explosions? Check. Saving the day and getting the girl? Kind of check. He'd gotten the guy, but hey. Same thing. (Give or take a few certain differences in anatomy, but hey; who's looking?) In fact, he'd even gotten that Epic End-of-the-Movie Kiss.

He and England had shared many kisses, several of them being rather good ones. One of his favorites happened a little less than 10 years ago. America had been leaving the British base in full gear and had just hopped into the helicopter. When he'd turned around, England was there, also in full gear, and glaring up at him. Before America could shout out what was wrong, England had grabbed him by the front and yanked him down, smashing their mouths together. It was a little awkward for the first second, but they quickly got over that. Over the whirring of the helicopter blades, America could hear a few of the British soldiers whistling and whooping. After he pulled away, England had said something, but America couldn't hear it. He'd just smiled, and then took off.

It had been a good kiss, but the one he liked most was that Epic End-of-the-Movie kiss. He and England had their own Victory Kiss on VE Day, and it had been a truly epic kiss. It had been a long time since a kiss like that; America knew that he wasn't likely to get such a thing again, not without years of strained tension and that kind of relief of the stress war usually gave nations, so he was willing to settle for the one kiss he'd never gotten. He'd even gotten the _Lady and the Tramp_, spaghetti courtesy of Romano. ("There! Don't bother me again!") A kiss for victory, a military departure kiss, a spaghetti kiss…. It was time, now, for the In-The-Rain Kiss. With the passion from _The Notebook_, minus the years of separation.

It was mostly this that had America on his current flight to a rainy England. He'd checked the UK weather forecasts, ensuring something close to a week of rain to not only get his kiss, but … maybe even play in the rain. He did often make fun of England about how wet his little island was, but he didn't at all mind it as much as me complained or teased. The childish part of him enjoyed getting wet, and playing. He often found himself having to curb the desire to toss his umbrella aside, and jump in puddles. Sure, Texas might get a little spotted, but he could always clean the lenses later. Of course, it wasn't just the having fun and getting wet of rain he loved.

Flying into London—or just flying in general—was one of America's favorite things. America preferred the window seat, loving how the plane flew through the clouds and how condensation would form on the windows. If the other passengers thought he was being too childish, that was their problem. America would enjoy both his wonderment and knowledge at meteorological science, even if meant a few harsh, airy exhalations of, "So cool…" followed by drawing a quick (and awesome looking) smiley face on the window.

And so, beyond the oily residue of the smile, that was the first thing he noticed upon landing in London: The rain; and he noticed it with a bright, wide smile on his face. A normal, grey day in the city, and America was perfectly fine with it. He didn't mind sitting a few extra minutes on the plane as everyone rushed for their carry-ons to get off of the plane. He had Raindrop Races to oversee on the window. (The drop on the right was winning, but the left one was quickly gaining, and looking to surge ahead pretty soon.) With just a few passengers left, and the race won by a new-comer raindrop, America scooted out of his seat, grabbed his lonely carry-on, and walked off the plane to several, "Thank you for choosing our airline! Please fly with us again!"-s.

Now free from the confines of the plane, America hurried to customs, flashed his ID to show that he didn't really need any kind of interrogation, and almost ran to baggage claim. On his way, he sent a quick text to England, reminding him he was ho—er, back—and to, "Hurry up! God, you take so long! Is your arthritis acting up, or something?" Thankfully, America didn't need to worry very much about too much luggage. He had clothes at England's house, along with a few of his usual necessities like an extra DS, and an extra laptop. He even brought along a DVD player after discovering that England's wouldn't play the discs America would bring with him. (That was a horrible day.)

Luggage in hand, America waited outside under the eaves for England to pull up. (Really, what was taking him so long? If he was trimming his eyebrows again, America was _seriously_ just going to buy him an electric shaver and the job would be done in less than 5 seconds. Voila. No more waiting!) He stood there, watching the rain shower down. It really was amazing. When he looked up at the clouds, then to the falling rain, part of his mind immediately went through the entire process. (_Evaporation, condensation, precipitation…._) Looking down at the pavement, small rivulets were flowing with the runoff from higher ground; small puddles pooled here and there, and America had to bite his lip and flex his fingers to prevent himself from jumping in.

"Are you just going to stand there all day looking at your feet, or get in the car?"

America grinned, recognizing the voice, and lifted his head up to see England standing there. He must have just left Downing Street, still in his suit (sans jacket). He wore a smug, yet affectionate, semi-smirk on his face, obviously entertained by America's apparent aloofness, but America could see that England was glad to see him. He held an umbrella; America liked seeing the rain fall around England, rather than on him. It was a cool effect, but America could change that.

"England!" America dropped his luggage (all was safe and dry), and lunged towards England, wrapping him in a tight hug. England's umbrella flew out of his hands, and America inwardly laughed (slightly evilly, perhaps) as England sputtered. If any of the others under the eave hadn't been sure where he was from, he was positive they knew now that he was undoubtedly American with his spontaneous show of affection. "Hey, you finally made it, slow poke."

"America, I'm getting all wet! Get off of me!"

"Silly old British man, with your bumbershoot, pip pip!"

England rolled his eyes as America pulled back some. England's hair was getting damp, the rain slowly soaking his shirt. He looked ready to say something, but it died on his tongue as America caught his eye. This was going to be The Moment. That moment when they just _knew _it was going to be that Silver Screen kiss. America even softened his gaze, and his hold, ready to slowly lean in, and then….

England decided to pull a dick move and pick up his umbrella, rather than stand there and let himself be kissed. How selfish. (It wasn't even a stylish umbrella, either. Just an ugly shade of brown. Ugly brown umbrellas over _him_? Well, then. America saw where the loyalties lie.) A little off-put, his moment ruined (by a _god damned umbrella_), America walked back a few steps to grab his luggage. He tossed it into the back seat of Arthur's car, and joined England up front.

It was a rather silent ride, as they exchanged only a few words here and there. ("Hey, you should get your brake pads changed pretty soon…." "I know, relax.") America still grumbled quietly to himself, and England hummed some Sex Pistols. It was slightly awkward, actually; America had to fidget to keep his mind preoccupied, and force himself to mentally go over some Chinese vocabulary. He was in the middle of tracing the character for 'kiss,' _wěn_, when the car came to a stop in England's driveway. He wasn't even going to get to finish _writing the character _for the word! Clearly he was not meant to have this moment, and it was annoying him.

And it would appear that way for most of the rest of the week.

As soon as they took America's things to the bedroom, England was off back to Downing Street, then had to stop by some other British Place of Importance, or something. He hadn't even gotten a, "It's so nice to see you after so long," kiss. The only affection they'd shown had been initiated by America, and that had been at the airport, when America had hugged him. England didn't get back until after America had fallen asleep, and was just getting out of the shower when America had woken up. ("I'm sorry, things are in a terrible mess right now; I'm sorry it has to be this week. There are eggs and muffins for you downstairs, if you're hungry.") America spent the day bored, unwilling to go outside. Instead he sat inside and surfed the internet the entire day.

The same thing happened the next day, only America was on his DS the entire time. It happened a third day, this time with America flipping through British TV channels that aired American shows. America only had a week in England, so when it happened on the fourth day, America had become legitimately upset in the morning. It had resulted in an argument and England storming away, and America munching angrily on … whatever it was England had made that morning. (Honestly, the man could probably mess up _cereal_.)

America made sure to sleep in late on the fifth morning, and then he heard the front door shut. He grumbled to himself. Great. An entire week, and barely anything but a spared look from his boyfriend. Not even a kiss on the cheek! He'd been looking forward to the week, what with this forecast, and he was stuck at England's house with nothing to do but cook proper food, and do lonely stuff. He didn't even want to go outside and play in the rain, and _no one was around to berate him for it_.

So, on his last full day in the Marvelously Rainy Nation, America sat on England's couch, playing Assassin's Creed. For some reason, he just wasn't into it all that much, but he had a sneaking suspicion why that was. He wondered briefly if England would notice if America just up and left on his own…. Probably not, he was so busy. Which, America supposed he understood, but still. Barely a word each day? America would stay awake and give England a piece of his mind tonight, then!

"America?"

Or, Murphy's Law could kick in. Awesome. America didn't bother at all glancing towards England. "What?"

"I need your help with something really fast."

"You kept me cooped up inside to use me as a beast of burden at your convenience?"

"Oh, hardly; come on, now."

America rolled his eyes, going with England. For one, if it involved heavy lifting, America would love to flaunt just how able-bodied he was. Two … it would make Arthur happy. (And deep down, America still wanted to make him happy.) They got to the door, and America stopped, and scowled. "It's raining," he said.

"I don't know what I would have done without you around to tell me that, America."

"Do what I can. But no, seriously. It's raining. You want to do something in the rain?"

"It's not that I _want _to do something. It's just something that needs to be done."

America sighed, and took Texas off to save it from the rain. "What do you need?" he asked, walking out. …Okay, so now that he was getting wet, maybe he was feeling that little spark come back. And that was definitely a good thing. England, who was already completely soaked, lead America down to the end of the driveway where sat his car. Once there, England stood beside the car and pointed to it.

England explained that his steering wheel was wobbly, that his battery was shot, and he was pretty sure that there was something wrong with the transmission. Of course, it all needed to be fixed right away, so he, somehow, already had much of what he needed. Also, he needed to take care of everything in the rain because, apparently, the garage was full. America sent a disbelieving look in England's direction, shaking his head. He set up the tools he needed, and climbed under England's car.

Two hours later, he emerged. It was still raining, but it only did so much in cleaning him from the dirt, grease, and oil that had found its way to his person. (England was very lucky that this was one of America's more raggedy shirts….) America was … actually a lot more relaxed, now. He was in the rain, fixing something; doing something constructive. That and England was finally paying him some attention. (Though, he had an idea that this whole car fiasco was a setup.)

"So. Your transmission was just fine the other day, and I know you're a good driver."

"W-well, the oddest things happen, you know!" England tried.

America just chuckled, closing the hood of the car. England's shower would be filthy by the time America was just halfway clean…. "So what've you been doing the last week? Driving around and messing with your car?"

"No! I've been at work!" England said defensively, wiping his bangs back. The rain just pushed them down again. "..Though, maybe I … may have accidentally taken … the long way home and … didn't stop completely before shifting…."

"Seriously, England?" He grabbed England's shoulders. "Something bad could have happened to you!" America admonished. He was … actually really upset, now. England knew better than that, and doing something like this on purpose was not a very England thing to do. "You could have … I dunno! Your brakes could have gone, and you'd fly off of a cliff!"

"That's why you're here, though. To fix those issues," England said. "I should also tell you, you'll be here for another week. I confused the dates you would be here, so … I made up for it by staying so many hours with my boss. I have next week off, as well, so … we can spend the entire week together. Just me and you."

"Uh…. Well, that's fine with _me_, but I dunno about my boss." His grip on England's shoulders loosened, yet still remained in place.

England waved his hand. "My boss already spoke to him. Don't worry about it." England stepped forward some, brushing America's bangs to the side. (Again, this didn't do much good—as it had with England, the rain pushed the hair back in place. Only Nantucket remained in place.) "I'm sorry for ignoring you this week…. I felt that if I didn't, then I wouldn't get any work done. I know it's been driving you insane—"

"Huh? How?"

England grinned, quirking an eyebrow. "You talk in your sleep, Love."

America was grateful for the dirt, grease, and oil on his face. It hid (most of) the blush on his face. "Oh. I, uh, I see." Well. That wasn't embarrassing. Nope, not at all. "Um, I guess it's okay." America dropped his hands finally, but America couldn't tell if this had been a good or bad thing.

England, without warning, wrapped his arms around America's neck, kissing him fully on the lips. America's eyes widened. He had no hope of categorizing his thoughts as he blinked. England was finally kissing him. He was _finally getting _a god damned kiss. Also, it was raining. America and England were outside, it was raining, and they were kissing. England was kissing America in the rain. There were several more combinations, but when England flicked his tongue over America's lips, the combinations stopped forming, and America kiss England back fully.

America moved back a step to sit on the hood of England's car, and his hands travelled to England's waist, then down a bit more … and a little more…. And yes! Revenge! America's dirty, dirty hands planted themselves on England's ass, and whether or not the older nation knew it America didn't know, or care. He just had revenge, and it was sweet. (Besides, England couldn't yell at it. It was Karma. Devine Retribution. The Law of the Universe.) He lifted England's legs to wrap around his own waist, moving his hand up to England's neck, just like in the movies, ensuring that England wouldn't – couldn't – pull away.

At least not right away. When they did, England backed away a few inches, smiling widely, and America grinned up, innocently. (England was going to have a _field day _doing his laundry.)

"Even though we haven't seen each other in a while, I missed you the most this week," he said. "I couldn't figure out if you were mad at me, or if you were just … busy with something else."

England shook his head. "No. Just work and … purposefully blowing out my transmission, wearing out my brake pads, and warping my rotors for you. …You should probably check my oil, later. And jump the battery, though that can wait for … when you're not wet."

It didn't have the spontaneity of their Victory Kiss, or the effect of their recent kiss in the Middle East, nor the adorable factor of their spaghetti kiss. But it was still the Silver Screen In-The-Rain Kiss he wanted, and … he was pretty happy with that.

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><p>END<p> 


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